


Doctor's Orders

by HolmesFan



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/M, German pet names, Shameless Smut, sensual massage, you can't hurt me with this i know what i am
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 05:56:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolmesFan/pseuds/HolmesFan
Summary: Okay, so this really, really hadn’t been what you’d expected when the Medic asked you to come to see him for a checkup. Granted, you didn’t really have any particular expectations to begin with, but if you had, this would have been as far from them as you could get.





	Doctor's Orders

‘Care to run that by me again?’

The German doctor drums his fingers against his immaculate desktop but his expression shows no impatience as he eyes you over his spectacles. ‘My creations are marvels to be sure, and are quite useful for mending flesh and bone in the heat of battle.’ He pauses to chuckle, leaning back in his chair and it groans softly at the shift in weight. ‘More than that, in fact. But it is my professional opinion, that your specific needs would be best met with a more…archaic method.’

Your eyes take in the waist high massage table covered in crisp white sheets before flitting back to the doctor who has unfolded himself from his chair and has begun approaching you in measured steps, hands clasped behind his back.

‘You appear dubious, Spätzchen. Tell me what you are thinking.’

As he nears, you cross to the other side of the table, keeping some distance between the two of you. It’s not as though you’re afraid of him, but there’s something about the Medic you’ve always felt…well, disconcerting.

It might be the meticulous stringency with which he goes about every task; the man does nothing by half measures whether it is cataloging test samples or hacking the limbs from another man’s body. Or it could be the clear, piercing feel of his gaze whenever he pins it on you. It’s unnerving the way he looks straight into your eyes whenever in your presence; a feeling similar to being doused in ice-cold water.

Most likely though, it’s probably the fact that despite his compulsive neatness (even when spotted in blood the Medic has perfect creases ironed into his coat), despite his mania and his severity and his occasional bouts of brilliant insanity, you have undeniably, and unfortunately, developed a rather mystifying lust for the doctor. You haven’t any idea when it happened, but you know that it’s a discovery best left unexplored.

You also realize that you’ve been silent for far too long and now he is looking at you with one eyebrow raised, his interest piqued.

‘I’ve…uh, I’ve never had one before. A massage, that is.’ You run your fingertips along the top sheet and try desperately to keep the color from your cheeks. ‘But this really won’t be necessary. I mean, I’m just fine. I appreciate it though.’ Smiling, you round the foot of the table with every intention of a hasty escape, but a firm hand grips your upper arm as you try to pass by and it stops you in your tracks.

‘Your left shoulder,’ he intones almost accusingly. ‘You’ve been rotating it, trying to work at the muscle.’

You turn to look at him, but the denial you had prepared dies on your lips as you realise with a start how much taller he is than you when standing so close.

‘Also, I’ve noticed a slight limp as you’ve been favoring your right hip. Some old injury perhaps? To say nothing of the tenseness in your lower back along the spine and the havoc it is wreaking on your posture.’ He releases your arm and gestures back to the table, but does not move away.

Okay. So he’s been watching you. Closely. You’re not sure how that makes you feel, but decide not to think about it until later. Much later, if possible. Your resolve, which was not very strong to begin with, is crumbling quickly. You have been in pain after all…

‘And you can help with that?’

This earns a smile from the doctor. ‘I would not offer if I could not.’

You weigh the situation in your mind briefly before deciding that, hell, what have you got to lose? You’ll be laying on your face anyway, right? It’s not like he’ll see if you blush at his proximity.

‘Alright.’ You hope you don’t sound too breathless.

‘Sehr gut,’ he smiles again as he brushes a hand against the small of your back to guide you back to the table. ‘I will leave the room briefly so that you may undress. Slide under the sheet face down when you are finished.’ And with that, he sweeps away from you and is gone, leaving you alone, ears burning, in the examination room.

\- - -

When the medic returns, you are safely covered, shoulders to toes, in the top sheet and can only hear him since your face is placed in the cradle. A soft knock announces his entry, then when you answer a quick ‘come in’ the door opens. Boot steps cross to one of the counters and you hear the clacking of wood and plastic briefly before the sound of soft classical music begins drifting through the air.

You look up, folding your arms under your chin. ‘I didn’t know you had a record player.’

The Medic is shrugging off his his labcoat as he answers. ‘I only bring it out for special treatment.’ He hangs the coat over the back of his chair and begins rolling up the sleeves of his white collared shirt.

You are trying very hard not to squirm at this point and decide that it’s probably a good idea to just lay your head right back down.

He crosses toward you and soon you can hear him right up next to where you lay. ‘Please let me know at any point if you are uncomfortable or if the pressure is too much,’ he intimates before warm fingertips draw the sheet down your back to fold over just above your tailbone, leaving you feeling flushed and exposed.

An instant later those same hands and running down the length of your spine, coating your skin in oil. He is standing above you, his thumbs pressing into your shoulders and then gliding downward in steady strokes. At first, you are somewhat scandalized, feeling how you do about him, but as tension in your muscles begins to melt away, so does your apprehension. More oil is applied, more pressure, and the doctor works at the trouble spots in your neck with deft fingers and the occasional use of his knuckles.

Seemingly finished with this part, he steps to one side, pulling your arm from beneath the sheet and laying it so it dangles off the edge at the elbow. You try desperately to focus on the way his fingertips catch pleasantly beneath your shoulder blade and not the fact that your arm is now caught between his legs, bare skin gently rubbing against the fabric of his trousers.

You let out a quiet breath of relief when he steps back and continues to massage the length of your arm and hand, but then catch it once again when he rounds the table to recreate the same process with the other arm.

Once finished, he places both arms back onto the table. ‘How are you feeling?’

His voice is hushed, but still so loud compared to the relative peace of the examination room. ‘Good,’ you murmur breathily and make to look up, but he places a gentle hand on your head.

‘We are not finished yet, Spätzchen.’

‘Oh.’ You relax back into the table as you hear him pause to pour more oil into his hands but nearly jolt with alarm when you feel him begin climbing onto the table behind you. It is only a moment before he is straddling your upper thighs, sheet rolled just a bit lower, and his thumbs once again working the muscles along your spine, but from a new angle.

He must feel how tense you are because he lightly chides ‘Relax,’ before beginning to concentrate his efforts on your lower back and glutes. He begins working his forearm into your ass and you find yourself arching off the table into his touch, pleasure coiling deep in your belly. The table begins to quietly creak and groan under his ministrations as he rocks back and forth with the effort of taming your muscles; an obscene mimicry of thrusting into you.

Just before you think you can’t possibly take anymore, the doctor pulls away and climbs down, pulling the sheet up to your shoulders once more. Though you’re pleased to once again be covered, part of you is devastated by the loss of contact.

But as it turns out, the doctor’s torment of you is only just beginning.

He slides one of your legs out, tucking the sheet around your crotch, before turning it to the side and bending it at the knee. His forearm works at your thigh, soothing deep aches within the muscle, but also gently tugging open the steadily cushioning folds of your core with every pull and drag, and you just know you’re soaking the sheet below you. He travels lower, giving you reprieve, rolling your calf and ankle in his experienced hands, but then continues his torturous work on your ass and thigh, leaving you panting into the headrest, praying he doesn’t hear.

The second leg is no better. If anything, he is more attentive to your more sensitive areas, his fingers deliberately digging into the inner muscles of your thigh so close you think that surely he can tell how wet you are.

But if he can, the Medic gives no indication. He remains quiet, and all you can hear is the ongoing frantic beating of your heart and the accompanying symphony on the record player.

When he is finished, he pulls the sheet back down and the comes to your side, lifting the cover completely. You blanch, briefly incredulous before you realise he is holding it so that he can’t see you.

‘Please turn over onto your back.’

Helpless to do anything else, you obey, settling in and willing your pebbled nipples to calm down. The sheet is placed over you, coming up just over your breasts and the doctors leaves your field of vision before rolling his chair back over. He sits and then bades you close your eyes before leaning down to place his long, elegant fingers on your face. Gently, he thumbs your cheekbones, sinuses, temples, hairline. But you can’t really concentrate on that because his breath is fanning over your cheeks each time he exhales and you can fucking taste it.

He moves down your neck, across your clavicle, and back into your shoulders again, unsurprisingly thorough in his task, and then pulls your arms above your head, stretching them, and nearly causing your breasts to come out from under the sheet, before placing them down gently again.

Back at your feet, he concentrates on the opposite sides of the previously worked muscles. This time, if it is even possible, his touch feels even more intimate, his fingers finding the dip where leg meets groin and back again, but never pressing where you by now desperately want him.

And you do want him. You find yourself practically humming with need, your inner walls rippling, so feverishly empty. You watch him work your flesh through nearly closed eyes, taking in his expression of absolute concentration, the way that stray lock of hair has fallen over his brow, and how his glasses have slid to the end of his stately nose. You notice with keen interest how he’s loosened his tie and can see the muscles in his neck shift as he swallows. You want to feel those muscles beneath your lips, your tongue, your teeth.

When he stops, you have to keep yourself from groaning out loud.

He recovers you and then steps away to wash his hands. ‘I trust you are feeling better.’

You slide to the end of the bed, now wrapped in the sheet and try to mask the utter frustration in your voice. ‘Yes, so much. That was just what I needed.’

The doctor dries his hands before turning back to you and pinning you with one of those icy stares of his. ‘Is it?’ He cocks his head to the side at your puzzled expression. ‘Well no matter.’

Then he is in front of you once more, hand on your knee, its heat burning through the folds of the sheet. ‘Unless, you were interested in something more.’

You swallow hard. ‘More?’

The smile that splits his features then can only be described as wicked. ‘Do not think, Mein Schatz, that I have not noticed your…attraction to me.’

You know your eyes are bulging from your head as he leans down to purr right into your ear. ‘Or that the sentiment is unreciprocated.’

It is then that your eyes dart down and you become instantly aware of the now obvious bulge in his trousers. You open your mouth to respond but no words will come and he continues to smile as he begins sliding the sheet up over your hips. Then, he goes down on one knee.

Gently nudging your legs apart, the doctor dips his head to drop a chaste kiss on the inside of your thigh. ‘Is this, what you want, Spätzchen?’

It takes you all of a second to nod and very meek ‘yes’ falling from your lips.

This time, it is his tongue that presses against your skin, his eyes never breaking contact. ‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you.’

‘Yes,’ you murmur breathlessly. ‘Please.’

The wicked smile is back as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and then all you can see is his eyes as nose finds your clit. He breathes in deeply, the rush of air sending chills through you, and then circles the hard bundle of nerves once, twice before flattening his tongue against your entrance and humming his approval. His mouth is sinful in its exploration of you and it isn’t long before he has you panting, one hand fisted in his hair, the other in the sheet.

His tongue snakes around your clit as he drops one hand from your thigh and presses a finger inside. It’s at once too much, and not enough. You gasp and keen and beg for more and he is all too eager to oblige, a second finger slipping in and curling along with the other.

Release is rapidly approaching. You can burning in your gut, dancing along your spine. ‘Please,’ you beg. ‘Don’t stop.’

And he doesn’t. If anything, he increases his pace and you come with a shout, walls clamping around his still pumping digits as his eyes bore into your own. He sucks down every drop with such enthusiasm, drawing out your orgasm until you’re too sensitive. Then he pulls away, your juices shining on his face, which he wipes on the back of his hand.

You’re breathless and still recovering from possibly the most incredible orgasm of your life, but you still want more, reaching out to draw him in for a searing kiss that is all tongue and teeth and frantic need. You can taste yourself on his lips and that only seems to drive your arousal higher. When he rises from his knees, your hands instantly go to his belt buckle and he chuckles against your mouth.

‘Impatient, are we?’

You let his belt drop to the ground with a thud and note the lust that clouds his eyes. ‘Absolutely.’

And all that happens next is a whirlwind of heat and flesh and need. His lips close on your breast and your fingers are in his hair, not-so-gently pulling at the roots. He growls in response, nipping at your skin, his hands cupping your ass hard enough to leave bruises. You hook your leg around his hips, drawing him in, and he chuckles darkly as you fumble with the fastening of his trousers.

Then he is free and you give his cock a swift pump to silence him, pleased beyond measure at the half strangled moan that escapes him. But he doesn’t let you linger there, batting your hand away and then pushing you down onto your back, laying a line of open mouth, fiery kisses from your collarbone to your belly button, where he pauses to dip his tongue inside, and then pulls away, the tip of his swollen cock at your entrance.

‘You are so wet for me, Mein Schatz,’ he purrs. You nearly arc off the table as his thumb teasingly brushes your clit. ‘Will you come for me again?’

And then he is pushing inside, a slow, steady stretch that has your body on fire. It’s so good and you can’t help but tell him so. You brace yourself on your elbows so that you can see the steady slide of him as he pulls out and then pushes back in. It’s obscene, to watch how he fills you, but that just makes it all the more pleasurable.

But neither of you are willing to go slowly for long and it mere minutes before your legs are wrapped around him, his lips are savaging your breasts and he is pounding you into the table with reckless abandon. It’s ridiculously arousing, seeing him undone like this. This formidable man who is always so straight-laced and composed is now gasping foreign curses into your ear as he drives you both toward completion. You can taste the salty tang of his sweat, feel the rough brush of his vest on your skin; and you never want it to end.

His thumb is driving your clit back and forth now, and a second climax bursts forth, rocking through your body and sizzling through each nerve as you scream his name. He isn’t far behind, his cock twitching and then hot release jets inside you. A few more languid pumps and then he relaxes above you, boneless.

The two of you remain that way for a few moments, gasping for breath, before he pulls away and puts his clothing back to rights.

You sit up and watch him smooth his hair back into place, utterly satiated and more than a bit smug. ‘So…is this to be an ongoing therapy then?’ 

His eyes snap back to yours but as he takes in your grin, a smirk curves his lips. ‘Ja, Spätzchen. Doctor’s orders.’

**Author's Note:**

> Originally uploaded 4/10/17 on Tumblr. I've decided to relocate.  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
